More Than Just a Game

ATLANTA — The dichotomy of Atlanta on a  Sunday is a sight to behold.

“The City Too Busy to Hate”—or whatever it’s called these days—is particularly sleepy on Sundays, skyscrapers silent, byways relatively empty, establishments oft-frequented closed for the next 24 hours.

Sleepy indeed. Except, of course, in the area around Mercedes-Benz Stadium, where I find myself.

My beloved Miami Dolphins are in town playing the Falcons, and my kid brother that I passed the illness known as being a Dolphins fan to bought tickets for the game.

Four of them to be exact, before the season started. Rarely do the Dolphins come this close to town, so like a solar eclipse, you try to see if you can. So he, my wife, my sister, and I packed in the car and drove the two hours across I-20.

We did not have high expectations; Miami has been awful this year. But as I learned over the course of the day, it wasn’t about winning and losing. Today was more than a game.

We each have come into this game in a bit of a rough patch; I’m not going to share every detail, but we all are still dealing with the fallout of our mom’s near-death experience in February of 2024 and subsequent life-altering implications. It’s been almost two years, but there are aftershocks that still ripple through. In short, we’re excited, but not the same kind of excitement we got before it happened. At least, not me.

And when my brother and sister showed up to my door at 7 CST, we were all ready to have a good time, but in a more subdued manner. Life can beat you down like that sometimes. 

We realize that none of us have had breakfast and are in need of caffeine. And the only thing open is Whataburger, and that’s just fine by all of us.

Biscuits and 20 miles later, we’ve passed through Leeds and settled in to the trip. Jokes are cracked. Memories are brought up. Good-natured sibling ribbing happens. It almost feels like old times. 

After a stop somewhere near Villa Rica where I almost got left, we eventually pull off the interstate, and begin to see the smattering of fans who would rather park in Marietta and walk than pay the fees. Luckily my sister decided she was not one of these people, and at the last minute bought a parking pass that put us nearly inside the stadium. I think we parked next to some of the Falcons coaching staff. 

We also see more and more aqua and orange, and my brother attempts to roll down the window and make Dolphins noises at them, but the child locks are on and his efforts are thwarted. For now.

I fully expected Mercedes-Benz Stadium to be overwhelming and exhausting, a splashy new stadium that had more glitter than gold. I was wrong. The Gameday experience was incredible.

MBS is what would happen if JerryWorld and Chick-Fil-A had a baby. It is state of the art, and the staff is incredibly friendly. We got free Falcons swag—we joked that we would swap into it if things got ugly at half—and we took the long way to our seats, but it never felt like a hike. Well, almost never.

After climbing all the way up to the top of our section, we realized that our seats are the last seats in the house. Literally. There were no more seats behind ours in the section. But the view was not bad at all. And the rows and seats were spacious. It was a win, and we’ll take any of those we can get today.

We miscalculated on time in an abundance of caution, so we have time to explore. I have to hand it to Arthur Blank; he built a fan-first stadium. We were blown away at how low the concession prices were; in a day an age where you can spend nearly $100 for two people to eat (done it, unfortunately) we were able to spend a fifth of that. Free refills until the fourth quarter? Sure. An open endzone that allows light from outside in and fans to see the field? Great.

The pregame festivities were legit, too. Atlanta being the southern headquarters for a lot of the music played in my formative years, the hype soundtrack was almost unfair how good it was.

At one point my wife and I made the comment that if we weren’t ‘Phins fans, the Falcons wouldn’t be a bad option. 

But on this day, we’re Phins fans. And are fully prepared to be hurt.

Miami got the ball first, and scored first, 7-0 visitors. It’s encouraging, but not promising. The Falcons answered with a field goal.

At this point, we expect the Dolphins to get blown out. For the defense to crumble, for the offense to sputter. On this given Sunday, however, we saw a gridiron miracle.

Not only did Miami not get blown out, they put on their best performance of the season. The defense got every stop it needed. The offense clicked on all cylinders. Dolphins fans’ cheers could be heard over the home team’s.

Tackle after tackle, first down after first down, the four of us had something to cheer for. For four hours on a Sunday in October, our group could forget about the problems of the world and enjoy everything going right. We celebrated, we jumped up and down, we high fived. 

We felt like ourselves again.

And yeah, it was a meaningless regular season game in the early part of the season. But for us, it felt like the Super Bowl.

And yeah, it was a meaningless regular season game in the early part of the season. But for us, it felt like the Super Bowl.

The Dolphins won, 34-10.

The ride back was one of elation and relief. Sure, it was only one day, but it was a good day. We laughed. We celebrated. We were unified.

I guess that’s the thing about road trips and sporting events. They often have a way of knocking off the rust that life can let creep in. They can allow you to forget the present, get away from the past, and be hopeful for the future. And they create memories that last a lifetime.

So sure, it was just football on a Sunday in sleepy Atlanta. But for us, it was more than just a game.